“Did you bring passports at least?” Benjamin shouted.

  “For what?” I shouted back.

  “I don’t know, maybe to get past border control?”

  There was another pause.

  “We need passports for that?”

  “Well, yeah, what else would you expect crossing from one country to another?”

  “It’s not like that in Ireland,” I said. It was true. You didn’t need to bring a passport with you if you crossed from the south into Northern Ireland, which was technically a part of the British Crown. The jewel that nobody on the British Isles cared about, but still its jewel nonetheless.

  Felicity stroked my leg from underneath the table. “We’re not in Ireland, you silly goose,” she said, causing Winona to narrow her eyes at her.

  “What about driving licences?” Winona hollered back.

  “I don’t think they’re passports, Ms Bluebird,” Benjamin said. Winona shuffled at her feet like a shy schoolgirl who’d been scolded.

  “So, you packed everything for our little rendezvous down to the rez,” Felicity muttered with much disdain, “except the passports.”

  Winona glared again. “Shut up.”

  “And you have the nerve to tell moi,” Felicity pressed her hands into her chest dramatically, “that I shouldn’t forget to pack, what? What were they called? Something that begins with Mars?”

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  “…Mars bars,” Winona grumbled out.

  “Right. Mars bars. Because they’re Nathan’s favourite after all. But you couldn’t even pack the one fucking thing that would get us over the finishing line to your stupid fucking reservation.”

  “Felicity,” I stammered out in the hopes of keeping both women from tearing one another’s throats out, “Winona is trying her hardest.”

  “Should I just turn back then, Ms Brigham?” Benjamin asked from the driver’s seat. He sensed the tension too, and wasn’t going to let her, much like me, skewer his precious Winona.

  Felicity tsked in frustration. “Nope, it’s too late now. I don’t want to go back to that shithole Milton if I can help it.”

  “Then what do you want me to fucking do, Felicity?” Winona snapped back. “Just listen to your incessant whining?”

  I’d had enough of all this arguing. “We’ll figure something out when we get there, alright? This probably isn’t the first time a couple of college students have sneaked past the border.”

  “How are we going to explain all the Irish Navajo merchandise, then?” Felicity quipped. “I’m not Navajo, and Benjamin isn’t Irish.”

  “Just say the band was known as Jewish Anglo before you had a change of heart,” Winona said. “I mean, it isn’t that far-fetched, is it?”

  “You’re getting stuffed into the shower if you bring up such a stupid name for a band again.”

  “Girls, stop the sniping!” I slammed my fist on the table like a judge bringing a gavel down. “We’re going to have a nice road trip. We’re going to get along. And Irish Navajo is going to get its music video filmed, with Felicity as its actress and Benjamin as its director. Alright?”

  Then finally there was silence. A silence filled with empty, plodding downturn. Felicity and Winona looked away from me in fright, and Benjamin, for once, steadied his attention fully on the road instead of butting into the conversation.

  I felt quite downtrodden as well. I hated that. I hated having to be firm when people were acting out of line. It made me wish we could all just get along and sing around the campfire and forget about all these silly beefs and headaches we had with one another.

  I was a bit of a ruffled-haired idealist when I was young. I was still that, even now in my twenties and with a buzz cut. I looked out of the window again, and saw that the city of Boston had disappeared entirely behind the Massachusetts clouds.